


the wolf and the dragon

by sailorshadzter



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, GoT au, Role Reversal, jon x sansa - Freeform, jonsa, jonsa au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21648046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorshadzter/pseuds/sailorshadzter
Summary: a role reversal au: sansa is named queen in the north and sails for dragonstone to meet with the self proclaimed king of the seven kingdoms, viserys targaryen. she must secure his alliance no matter what it takes so she can help protect the home and family she loves more than anything else in this world.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 45





	1. The Queen in the North

"The North knows no Queen but the Queen in the North who's name is Stark!"

Cheers went up but chills raced the length of her spine.

_Queen in the North, Queen in the North!_

The chant fills the room and Sansa sucks in a breath as she silently rose to her feet, sapphire eyes sweeping the ocean of faces before her. Her heart beat is racing and she can feel her pulse thumping in her wrists and ears. She takes a single step back and looks to Jon who's there beside her, his typically stoic face instead an encouraging smile. His nod is all she needs to face her destiny and so when she turns back to the men, she raises a fist and listens to them cheer.

[ x x x ]

"A raven, your grace."

Lord Royce backs from the room with a bow, once again leaving Sansa with Jon, the two of them seated in her solar. The fire roars in the hearth, casting warmth and light into the small space. From where he sits, Jon watches as her face changes, perhaps recognizing the handwriting before she reads the script. He sees her lips twitch with a frown, sapphire colored eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He wonders if she knows she wrinkles her nose when she's upset. "Who's it from?"

Jon's tenor vocals bring her back and she instead focuses her eyes on him. "Tyrion Lannister," she says without hesitation. Jon's eyes widen and he sits forward in his chair. " _Hand to the King Viserys Targaryen_." She finishes and Jon swears, rising up from his chair entirely, striding forward to take the parchment from her.

"You will not go." Jon says a moment later, tossing the paper onto the table at his side. "It's obviously a trap."

Sansa smiles. "Jon..." She says gently, her smile softening his features. But then she sighs, shaking her head. "No, I suppose you're right," she continues, shrugging. It was true, she had once been married to Lord Tyrion Lannister, but hearing this new title of his surprised her greatly. A Lannister siding with a Targaryen? It was strange indeed. "Besides, I have much to do here... at home." Where she belonged.

[ x x x ]

When he raps on her chamber door, Sansa knows it's him. He always does the same sounding knock, _tap tap tap_ , slow and precise just like him. "Come in," she calls as she peers into the looking glass, pinning the last braid into place as her door swings open. "You're here early," she says as she turns around to face him, only frowning when she sees his face. "What's wrong?" She rises from her chair, crossing the room to stand in front of him. He looks agitated, as if there's something on his mind that he's not sure how to say.

"A raven came late last night," he finally says. "A white raven."

"From the Citadel?" She's surprised and he can see it on her face.

"Yes, from my old friend Samwell Tarly. He writes with urgent news... That concerns Dragonstone." He watches as realization dawns on her, for they had only just received Tyrion Lannister's letter a few days before. "He says there is dragonglass on the island and plenty of it. We need that dragonglass to fight the Night King and his army." She studies his face for a long moment before she nods. Already her mind is churning with what these words mean for them.. For Jon. "I have already called for a meeting with the Lords." Sansa smiles. Typical Jon, always to business. But more thoughts are consuming her- she glances down at her desk just to her left and sees the letter from Tyrion that still lays there.

Suddenly, she knows what she must do.

[ x x x ]

"We need to mine it and turn it into weapons!"

Jon's powerful voice rings out among the men and cheers go up. These men respected him as much as they'd once respected their father, bastard or not. "Just two days ago, our queen received invitation to Dragonstone from Tyrion Lannister, Hand to the Targaryen King Viserys." Now there is a murmur of dissent, as if they all are thinking the same thing of who Jon mentioned. Sansa listens to him as he rallies the men to his side, as she knew he would, convincing them of their need to mine the dragonglass at Dragonstone. "In the morning, Ser Davos and I will ride for White Harbor and then sail for Dragonstone-"

"No."

All eyes swiveled to face their queen that had finally spoken, her lips curved in a small smile. "No?" Jon parrots back, surprise taking root in his features. "It is best that I go, if it is truly a trap, you would be their target. You know what happened last time a Stark met a Targaryen." That old fear of his lingers between them, unspoken; _and I'm not a Stark._

"Your grace, I must agree with your brother," Lord Royce stands, offering her a quick bow. "It is too dangerous for you to go." She swears every Lord in the room but little Lyanna Mormont nods in agreement. "A Targaryen cannot be trusted... Nor a Lannister." This time jeers ring out, the North's hatred for these families stronger than ever.

"Your grace," it's another lord, rising up from his chair to address her. "Winter is coming and the North needs its queen here where she belongs."

She focuses her gaze on Jon again, she can tell he's angry. _Let him,_ she thinks, _I'm doing this for him. For all of them._ "It is true... I am needed here in Winterfell." She says slowly, rising up from her seat behind the head table. She sweeps around to the front, to stand adjacent to Jon as she addresses the room. "But there will not be a Winterfell if we do not stop the Night King and his army of the dead. My brother has seen them, he will tell you we need this dragonglass." Reluctantly, he nods. "I will do whatever it takes to protect the North." She grips a hand into a fist at her hip, looking out at the men around her, sapphire eyes gleaming in the torchlight. "Viserys Targaryen has both dragonglass and dragon fire. We need both if we want to survive the war and winter to come." _I am the blood of the North, the daughter of Winterfell._ "Only a king can ask a king... It is the same for a Queen." "Besides, I am leaving the North in good hands."

"Whose?" It's Jon that speaks up first. He's all sharp edges again and she can't stop her heart from skipping a beat as their eyes meet.

"Yours."

[ x x x ]

"I'd feel safer if I were going with you," he says this for the tenth time that night and Sansa chuckles. "Or even Ghost. You should take him with you," at the sound of his name, the direwolf raises his head from his great big paws, red eyes peering out from the far corner of the room.

"A ship is no place for a wolf, nor an island," she scoffs, though her eyes are dancing as they meet his. They've been sharing wine and ale in his chambers and she can already feel herself begin to grow warm from the inside out. "I can take care of myself, you know." She adds with a wag of her finger. "Beside's I shall have Brienne with me." Another laugh dies upon her lips when she sees him sober, sitting a little straighter in his chair. "Truly Jon, I will be alright."

Hundreds of thoughts cross his mind; so many words he wants to say to her. "Jon..." His name is a plea upon her lips and he raises his gaze back up to meet hers. He could drown in those eyes. He can't stop himself from leaning in, catching her cheek with his palm, drawing her face close to his own. She's so close he can feel her breath like a whisper against his skin. He hesitates, suddenly unsure of the moment, and that's when she rushes in, capturing his mouth with her own. That was all he needed. The hand on her cheek slipped further back until his fingers became entangled in her soft red hair, let loose from its usual tight braids. "Jon!" She gasps when they break apart moments later, her lips parted and her chest heaving. This should feel wrong but it feels more right than anything else ever had.

Part of him knows this is wrong, but he can't stop now. He needs her to know the truth before she goes. "I love you," he says without hesitation before he leans in and kisses her again, the three words caught between them. He wraps his other arm tightly around her, drawing her in as close as he can, the feel of her pressed against him like nothing else he'd ever felt before. He's kissing every inch of her that he can and when she tilts her head back, he sinks his teeth into her soft, milky skin, a warmth rushing through his every limb. "Sansa..." He draws back, the sound of her name forcing her eyes back open. "We don't have..." She cuts him off with a kiss, a kiss that would have knocked him to his knees had he been standing. He can feel her hands in his hair, her tongue meeting with his as his grip tightens at the small of her back. Only then does he draw her up from the chair, leading her across the room towards his bed which he sinks down onto the edge of. "Turn around," he rasps, his heart threatening to burst free from his chest. Neither of them have any more time to contemplate if what they were doing was wrong.

She does as he bids, slowly revolving on the spot and drawing her long red hair over a shoulder. Sansa can feel his hands as they slowly begin to losen the laces of her gown- she shouldn't be, but she's surprised at how gentle he seems to be. She has nothing but violence to compare this moment with and she finds she's holding her breath as he unlaces her from her gown. But she releases it as the gown falls, knowing without any doubt that this was what she wanted. She's wanted it a while now, if she were to admit it. She pulls her chemise over her head and tosses it aside, leaving herself bare to his sight. When she turns around, Jon is looking up at her as if awestruck and she can't help but to blush beneath his gaze. A moment later, he's freed from his own clothes and he draws her down onto the bed beneath him. "You're perfect," he murmurs, brushing his mouth over hers, one hand enclosed around her breast, thumb lightly rubbing against her nipple. "My queen," he whispers against her ear and he hears her let out a breath as his hand travels further than her hips.

It's only a few hours later when Jon props himself up onto an elbow to peer down at her sleeping form there beside him. He wants nothing more than to tell her she can't leave in the morning, but he knows this stubborn girl all too well. Nothing will change her mind now. And so he sighs before he leans over her and brushes a kiss to her temple. At least... They had this night together, if nothing else.

[ x x x ]

Jon watches her climb into the saddle on her white horse, dark cloak a stark contrast to the beasts pure white coat. She leans down to speak to Brienne who had helped her up and then as if she could feel his gaze on her, looked back to where he stood. So far apart, neither could speak, but rather she raised her hand in a silent goodbye, one that he mimicked a moment later. Ahead of her, the lead guard called out for the gates to open and though it looked as if it pained her to do so, she turned away and spurred her horse into movement.

It was just as she went out the gate, that she looked back and met his gaze one final time. They'd not be apart long, she reasoned, she had no right to feel so upset. And yet... Sansa could not shake the strange feeling of dread that seemed to settle into her heart the further she rode away from Winterfell. Part of her wanted to turn back and return to the safety of its stone walls and Jon's arms. _No,_ she tells herself as she tights her grip on her horse's reins. _This is for the North._ Hadn't she only just promised to do anything it took to protect her people and kingdom? It was a promise she intended on keeping, even if it meant sailing for what most would call a suicide mission. _I am the blood of the North, the daughter of Winterfell, I must be strong._

And strong she would be.


	2. The Targaryen King

As their sail boat glides onto shore, they are met with a line of soldiers, with one small man at the forefront. She recognizes Tyrion Lannister at once- for who could ever forget the drawf? The soldiers step forward, but not to surround them, as Brienne helps her from the boat and onto the shore. The water rushes up, soaking both her feet and the hemline of her dark gray gown. It's much warmer here and she's left behind her fur cloaks and gloves back on the ship, though now she wishes she'd thought to bring a lighter gown or two.

"Welcome to Dragonstone, Lady Sansa." Tyrion speaks as she comes to stand before him, her small group behind her.

"Your grace," Brienne interrupts as as takes an aggressive step forward, pinning her eyes on the little man before them. Sansa shoots her a look and the woman goes silent, though her stare remains stony.

Tyrion clears his throat before he continues. "My apologies, your grace," he smiles faintly, taking in the sight of the windswept girl standing before him. She had grown taller and into quite the beauty, this one time wife of his. "In the name of Viserys Targaryen, I welcome you to Dragonstone." Sansa regards him but does not speak, her blue eyes glinting in the sunlight. "This is Mossador," he gestures to a young, handsome man with eyes of gold that had come up from behind the soldiers. "He is the King's most trusted advisor."

"Our king knows it's a long journey and he appreciates your effort on his behalf," his accent is one Sansa cannot place, it's one she's never heard before. "Now, if you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons." He gestures for the soldiers around him to take them and at once Brienne and the men around Sansa freeze.

"Of course," Sansa breaks in with a sweet smile, taking only a moment to glance around at her few guards. Though looking quite reluctant, they one by one hand over their swords and daggers to the soldiers, who then begin to file back towards the stairs that would lead them up to Dragonstone.

"This way," Mossador says, gesturing for the small group to follow after him. Placed beside Tyrion with Brienne just behind her, Sansa raises her skirts as they trek through the sloping sand, her wet shoes sinking with every step. "I will have you shown to your chambers to change and rest, you must be hungry." He continues, glancing back to smile at the redhead, his golden eyes gleaming in the sunlight.

It's as they begin to climb the stairs that the first dragon swoops overhead with a screech- the guards behind her all fall to their knees from fear, though Sansa's knees barely bend as she stares up into the skies. A second dragon shrieks back to the first, the largest of the trio, and beside her Tyrion chuckles as the others pick themselves up off the ground. "I'd say you get used to them... But you don't." Sansa presses her lips together and glances at Brienne, but they continue on their way up the stairs. "I thought I'd never see you again," Tyrion speaks casually and Sansa feels her heart skip a single beat. "Might have been nice to see you at my trial for Joffrey's murder. It was quite hard to explain why my wife had fled the city." The look he throws her tells her he's not angry and at once she finds herself relaxing. Perhaps things might not be so bad.

"The wedding was such a dull affair, I thought I might just skip the funeral, too." She threw him a smirk as Mossador threw open the main double doors, holding one wide open to allow the group to pass through. For a long moment, she took in the long sweeping hall, its high arched ceilings still coated with dust. To the left is a second set of doors, ones which would surely lead to the throne room.

"This way," Mossador says, bringing her attention back to the moment. She follows after him, taking a flight of stairs up just one floor to a long corridor with several different doors. "These will be your rooms," he opens the door and Sansa sweeps past him, stopping only when she reached the very center of the room. Brienne followed her in, eyes never straying from Mossador's face. "I hope these will be sufficient, my lady."

"Your grace," Brienne says for the second time that day.

Mossador smiles but doesn't correct himself.

"The room is perfect, thank you." Sansa replies after a beat of silence, hoping her smile is not as strained as it feels. They exchange only a few more words before Mossador is gone, the door closing quietly behind him. The moment he's gone, Sansa sinks onto the bed, suddenly exhausted. But this day is far from over.

[ x x x ]

"Is she as beautiful as they say?"

Viserys keeps his steady gaze on Mossador's and his most trusted adviser smiles only slightly before he gives a single nod. "She has hair the color of the sky at sunset." He comments as he takes a step closer to the silver-haired man. "And eyes like sapphires." Mossador continues as he comes to stand before the throne. "She is quite tall, as well." Her height had been as striking as her beauty, in truth. Mossador knows his King and knows him well- he will enjoy her pretty face and even enjoy her charming wit, but he will not like her so much when she refuses to bow to his request. He's only known her but a few moments and already Mossador can tell this Queen in the North will not bow so easily. "It would seem she is quite unlike any woman you've met."

"I see," Viserys chuckles as he leans back on his throne. "Send her to me then."

[ x x x ]

"You stand before Viserys Targaryen, the rightful King of the Andals and First Men." Mossador's voice booms across the vast, empty throne room. Sansa has already locked her eyes upon the silver-haired man on his throne and she slows her steps until she stands at the bottom of the steps that lead up to the dais. "Protector of the seven kingdoms, the father of dragons... The unburnt, the breaker of chains." Viserys' many titles stretch out along the seconds and Sansa already finds herself suppressing an eye roll.

He is a handsome man, she cannot deny that; he's all sharp edges and his violet eyes remind her of a hawk. For only a moment she throws a glance at Brienne, who squares her shoulders and speaks. "This is Sansa Stark, Queen in the North." Her title is short, but it is all that it should be. It is enough.

"Thank you for traveling so far, my lady." Viserys shifts upon his throne, looking down at the young woman before him. It is as Mossador had said, she was a beauty unlike any he'd ever seen before. "I hope the seas weren't too rough."

"The winds were kind, your grace," Sansa begins, lowering her face so he doesn't see her smirk.

Beside her, Brienne sucks in a breath and interrupts. "Apologies, your grace, perhaps you did not hear me before, this is the Queen in the North." Sansa shoots Brienne a look that ceases her speaking and instead her sworn sword takes a single step back, silenced by her queen's single glance.

Viserys blinks but smiles slightly, leaning forward, elbows pressed into his thighs. "It is true I was not given a formal education, but I swore I could have read somewhere that there's not been a King or Queen in the North for over a thousand years." His violet eyed gaze falls upon Sansa, who does not waver beneath his stare. In truth, he's surprised by the fierceness in her sapphire colored eyes. "Torrhen Stark bowed to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen and in exchange for his life and the lives of those who lived North, he swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. Or..." Viserys trails off as a soft yet arrogant chuckle falls from his lips. "Do I have my facts wrong?"

"I was not there," Sansa is the one who replies and Viserys laughs again, this time with a bit more ferver.

"No, of course not," he replies, settling back against the throne, hands settled in his lap. "But still... An oath is an oath. And I ask, what does perpetuity mean? Lord Tyrion?" He speaks to his Hand for the first time and the imp turns to look across a shoulder at his King.

"Forever, your grace."

"Ah... Yes. Forever." He returns his gaze to the young woman before him, who still has yet to change the expression upon her lovely features. She looks as if she'd rather be anywhere else and Viserys finds he's not used to being looked at in such a way. "So I assume my lady that you are here to bend the knee."

"I am not."

Every person in the room jumped, all surprised at the cool tone of the lady speaking. Viserys blinks and sits up straighter, anger surging through him as he stares down this Queen in the North. "That is unfortunate." He says a moment later, finding his voice and speaking in a tone that sounds far calmer than he truly feels. "You have traveled all this way only to break faith with House Targaryen?"

"Break faith?" It is Sansa's turn to chuckle as she steps back, rocking on her feet. "Your father burned my grandfather alive. He burned my uncle alive. He would have burned all seven kingdoms-"

"My father was an evil man." Viserys interrupts, shifting on his throne with an uncomfortable look upon his face. "On behalf of House Targaryen I ask for forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family." Their eyes meet and Sansa can feel her heart racing, can feel her pulse thumping in her throat. "And I also ask that you not judge a son for his father's crimes." There is a long pause and she looks down for only a moment, hoping she looks contrite. She's beginning to understand this man and the role she will have to play is much different than the one she thought she would. "Our houses were allies for centuries. The best centuries that the seven kingdoms have ever seen. Centuries of peace with a Targaryen sitting upon the Iron Throne and a Stark as Warden of the North." He's offering this to her and she knows he expects her to take it. "I am the last Targaryen. You are the oldest true born child of Ned Stark, the last Warden of the North. Honor the pledge your family made to mine. Bend the knee and I will name you Wardeness of the North. I swear it to you. Together we shall save this country from those who wish to destroy it." It's a pretty picture, she supposes, of peace and prosperity. But Sansa knows better, all of them standing in that room knows better, save for maybe Viserys himself.

Sansa takes a moment to look around her; first at Tyrion, who has been surprisingly quiet these last few minutes. And then she sees Mossador just beside the throne, his golden eyes watching her every move. She spares a glance at Brienne, who holds her head high and nods to her, as if to offer her the little bit of encouragement she needed to speak. "You're right," she finally speaks, turning back to face Viserys on his throne. The Targaryen looks somewhat smug, as if he already believes he's convinced her to bend the knee. "You're not guilty of your father's crimes," he's begun to smile as she speaks, thinking he's about to hear the words he wanted to hear all along. Sansa fights against a smirk as she watches his face change with her next string of words. "And I am not beholden to my ancestor's vow."

Viserys looks like a child who's toy has been snatched. "Then why are you here?" The words are sharp but the gaze even sharper.

"Because I need your help... And you need mine." She answers.

"Did you not see three dragons fly overhead when you came in?" Viserys asks through gritted teeth.

Ah, so it was as she thought, he had sent the dragons as a reminder, no a warning, about what power he had. "I did."

"And the Dothraki? The Unsullied? All of whom have sworn to kill for me."

"They were hard to miss," Sansa quips back, narrowing her eyes as she looks up at the Targaryen King. He did not frighten her, though he tried his best to.

"And yet you say that I need your help." Viserys' eyes have darkened with his anger, nostrils flaring as he peers down at the redheaded woman.

"Right now, you and I and everyone else... We're just children playing a game, screaming that the rules aren't fair."

"You told me you liked this woman." Viserys hisses at Tyrion, silencing Sansa for just a moment.

"I do, your grace." This was not the Sansa he recalled from King's Landing.

"In the few minutes she's been here, she's refused to call me King, refused to bend the knee, and she has now called me a child-" Sansa stops herself from pointing out that he sounds like a pouting child whining in the yard.

"I believe she's called us all children, your grace. It's a figure of speech."

Viserys opens his mouth to retort but Sansa is speaking again, taking a single step up towards the throne he sits upon. "Your grace, everyone you know will die before winter is over if we do not defeat the enemy to the North." Her words earn back his attention and he swivels his gaze back to her.

"As far as I can see, you are the enemy to the North." Viserys snaps, his anger yet again getting the best of him.

"I am not your enemy. The army of the dead is your enemy." She says simply, as if this is enough to make them understand.

"The dead?" Clearly, her words were not enough. Viserys sounds beyond skeptical and she's certain another outburst is seconds away. "Is that another figure of speech?" He's directed this at Tyrion, who's now regarding Sansa with a surprised look on his face.

"The army of the dead?" It's Tyrion who speaks, addressing Sansa just several feet before him.

Sansa sighs. She's come all this way, she refuses to give up yet. "We may have been married once, my lord, but you do not know me all that well." She takes another step closer to the small man, watching in his eyes as she recalls their short time together many years before. "Do I look like a liar to you?" It was well known among her family and friends that there was only one thing Sansa Stark didn't do well and that was lie. When Tyrion shakes his head she's smiling, tilting her head as she stares back at him. "The army of the dead is real. My brother, Jon Snow, has seen them. He's fought them. The white walkers are real. The Night King is real." She's turned away from Tyrion and focused her gaze back on Viserys. "If the Night King and his army get past the wall and we're all fighting amongst ourselves... We're dead."

It's a few moments later when Viserys begins to speak, poetic words of faith in himself and all he had done. He rises from his throne, coming down the stone stairs until he's standing just before her. "Dragons haven't been seen in centuries... Not since my children were born. The Dothraki have never crossed a sea.. until they did it for me. I was born to rule the seven kingdoms... And I will."

Sansa holds her gaze steady, but softens her stare a moment before she shakes her head. "If we don't defeat the Night King, you'll be ruling over a grave yard."

"The war against my sister has already begun." Tyrion speaks up, coming down to stand beside his King. "We cannot put that war on hold to fight whatever it was your bastard brother saw beyond the wall."

"What my brother saw beyond the wall will kill us all," she heaves a sigh, knowing it's a lost cause to continue this conversation. But she's compelled to defend Jon and why she's come to this place. "The war against Cersei won't matter in the coming months. Soon it will be winter and even you cannot escape death's cold clutch. If we do not defeat the Night King, then only a skeleton shall sit upon the Iron Throne."

"If it is so important, then why not bend the knee?" It is Tyrion again. The little man feels a rush of fear at the glare the redhead shoots him. But he soldiers on. "Pledge the North to her cause and together our armies will defeat Cersei and this army of the dead."

"There's no time for that!" Sansa explodes, losing control for only a moment. "While we stand here and debate, the Night King comes only closer!"

"Bending the knee takes no time-"

"And why would I do that?" Sansa snaps, turning from Tyrion to Viserys before her. "I mean no offense, your grace but I don't know you. As far as I can tell, your claim to the Iron Throne rests entirely upon your father's name. My own father fought to overthrow the Mad King." She sucks in a ragged breath and lets it out, the fight slowly leaving her. She's tired, so tired. "The North chose me to lead them, to protect them. And I will do just that."

"That's fair," Viserys says, violet eyes narrowing just slightly as he stares at the young woman. "But it's also fair to point out that I am the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. To declare yourself Queen of one of those kingdoms means you are in open rebellion against me." He expects this woman to cower beneath his gaze or at least look away in shame- but she holds his gaze steady and looks almost smug as she stands there. He isn't used to this treatment but in truth... His anger is fleeing and it's being replaced by true curiosity for her. "Forgive my terrible manners, you must be tired from your journey," he says a moment before he turns and begins to make the climb back to his throne. "I will have baths prepared and supper sent to your rooms."

"Your grace," Sansa's voice forces him to turn back just before he settles back onto the chair. "Am I your prisoner?"

Viserys grins. "Not yet."

And so went the first meeting between the wolf queen and dragon king.


	3. The path that leads home.

When Sansa wakes that first morning in Dragonstone, she finds a gown has been brought to her rooms. It hangs on a peg across the room from the bed and once she rises up from the blankets, she crosses the room to finger the whispering silk. The gown is of the palest blue, the neckline cut so very deep it would surely reach just above her navel, where there it met an intricately designed gold belt that would wrap her waist. The skirt was all soft pleats and every stitch was of delicate gold thread. Perhaps on another woman, it would be a lovely gown, but Sansa drew back from the gown with a roll of blue eyes, a smirk toying with her lips. Did Viserys truly think she would don such a garment, just to please him? She's reminded of Margaery though, such a gown would have looked lovely on her.

"He had that sent to your rooms at first light," it's Brienne, come in so quietly that Sansa had not even noticed her. Sansa turns, a frown replacing her smirk as she faces her sworn soldier. Brienne was without a doubt the only person in all of Dragonstone that she could trust, that she was certain would keep her safe. Sword or no sword, Brienne would rip even the man's dragons apart if it meant keeping her safe. "You aren't going to wear it, are you?"

"Of course not," Sansa remarks with a shake of her head. It's then that she turns to her trunk, brought in from her ship the night before, opening it as Brienne stokes the small fire in the hearth behind her. "This shall do," she murmurs to herself as she pulls a gray gown from the trunk, shaking it out. It's not as heavy of a gown as the one she'd worn the day before and she hopes it won't be too thick for the warmer Southern air.

When she finally dresses in her own gown and breaks her fast, she escapes her chambers and wanders through the halls of Dragonstone. It's a large castle, old and dusty from its long years of standing alone. Stannis Baratheon had lived in its walls for a time, but even that had been short lived and years ago. Sansa puts out a hand to touch the dragons carved into the stone wall, fingers tracing the outline of its scaled back.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

She turns at the voice, surprised to see Viserys standing there at the end of the hall. He comes towards her, well dressed in a black doublet trimmed in Targaryen red. A three headed dragon pin is pinned over his heart. "They say this castle was built with magic," he continues as he comes to stand before her, his violet eyes meeting her blue. "Magic that made its walls strong and fearsome as the gargoyles that sit upon its outer walls." His hand slides down towards the head of the dragon, with its teeth barred.

"Beautiful is not quite the word I had in mind," Sansa admits to him, her words bringing an amused sort of smile to his face.

"No, I suppose no Northern girl can see the beauty in a creature such as a dragon." He inspects her then, Sansa can feel his hungry gaze taking in the sight of her. "Was the dress I sent to you not to your liking?" Sansa could feel the danger in his question and so she smiles, giving a small shake of her head.

"In truth, far from it." She decides honesty is the best policy- if she offends the so called king, then he will look foolish for throwing a fit. She tilts her head as she watches his face, ever intent on capturing the truth of his response no matter what his words said. Again she was met with that amused sort of smile, his violet eyes narrowing for a single moment- though, not from anger. But rather he regarded her closely, as one might inspect something of value. He was inspecting her like a possession.

"You're an honest woman... I liket that." Viserys says a moment later, offering her his arm so they might finish strolling the castle. The young woman does not hesitate, much to his surprise, and Viserys finds himself wondering more about this self proclaimed queen. Her temperament was as fiery as her hair and Viserys wants to tame her. He wants to make her his as he had his dragons. "Though I must say that blue would have been lovely on you." Viserys is a man of fashion, Sansa knows this, and it's something she might even say they have in common. "You have the most beautiful hair, the blue would have complimented you well," he observes as they turn a corner, making their way towards the staircase that would lead down to the main floor of the castle.

"You're far too kind," she replies, ducking her head to hide that she's not blushing, but rather smiling. She can only hope that if he catches a glimpse he'll think she's smiling from pleasure, not mirth.

"And this is where I must take my leave of you," Viserys says as they come to stand before a chamber door, one which lead into the painted table room. His war room, Sansa knew it to be. "My lady," he raises her hand to press his lips to and she dips the quickest of curtsies, holding his gaze a moment longer. His eyes narrow ever so slightly but then he turns, disappearing into the room without even a backwards glance.

The moment he's gone, Sansa can't help but to breathe with relief.

[ x x x ]

She hates this place.

It's hot, humid, and it's not the North. Sansa never realized how much she truly loved her home, how much she loved Winterfell, until she was gone from its walls. Ice ran through her veins and even now she could feel it melting beneath her skin. She stands on the cliffside, overlooking the sea, wondering to herself what Jon was doing right then. Did he miss her as much as she missed him?

A moment later, she hears approaching footsteps and she turns, surprised to see Tyrion walking towards her. He comes to stand beside her in silence, his gaze following the same path hers and taken only moments before. "I came down here to brood over my failure to anticipate the Greyjoy attack," he says, reminding Sansa of the events of the day before. Yara Greyjoy's fleet had been attacked by Euron Greyjoy and the attack had nearly demolished them in entirety. Sansa felt the familiar twinge of pain as she thought of Theon, who she knew had sailed for his home after helping her to escape Ramsay's clutches. She knew not if he lived or died. "But I see you are here already."

"I'm a prisoner on this island," she blurts without warning, turning to face the man she once called husband. Tyrion looks uncomfortable as he fumbles with his words, saying that he wouldn't call her such a thing. "I am a prisoner here as I was once a prisoner of Joffrey in King's Landing, as I was once a prisoner in my own home at Winterfell," Sansa spits, venom in her eyes and her tone. "You say I am free to walk the castle, to walk wherever I please. But I am unable to return to my ship, for you have stolen it from me."

"I wouldn't say we _stole_ it from you-" Tyrion begins, his tone good natured, as if he means to placate her.

"I'm not playing word games with you." She snaps, interrupting him. "The _dead_ are coming." She says with earnest, turning back to face the little man. "Perhaps they are already there and I am here, far away from my home and my family."

"Why don't you find out what to do about my missing fleet and murdered allies and I shall find out what to do about your army of the dead." Tyrion speaks, this time with more force, his tone bringing her gaze to his face.

"It's hard for me to fathom, it truly is... If someone told me about the white walkers, about the Night King..." She pauses, shaking her head before she turns away once more, sapphire gaze lingering on the roaring sea below them. For several seconds there is nothing but silence between them, the only sound that of the waves crashing against the rocks below, until she sighs. "You probably don't believe me."

Tyrion surprises her when he speaks. "I do, actually." Sansa turns back to him with widened eyes, a brow arching in her surprise. "I know your brother, Jon Snow. He is as noble as your father and thus, incapable of lying." Sansa can't help but to smile, knowing this to be true. "I trust the eyes of an honest man more than what everyone else claims to know." He's come closer to her now, so close they are just an arm's length apart.

"How do I convince people who don't know Jon... Who don't know me?" Misery is settling in. She's fearful that she's fighting a losing battle here and Viserys Targaryen will forever be her keeper.

"People's minds aren't meant for problems so large," Tyrion replies with a shrug, as if they speak of something mundane, not the lives of everyone in Westeros. "White walkers... The Night King... The army of the dead... It's almost a relief to confront a comfortable monster like my sister."

Sansa sighs, shaking her head. "I need to go home. I need to help prepare my people for what's coming." She thinks of Jon and how tirelessly he must be working to prepare the North for the battle that lingers ahead. Any given moment, the dead could be upon them, and she would be here. "I want to go home." She finishes, softer than the other words, speaking the honest truth from the depths of her heart.

"Something tells me you were not chosen as Queen in the North simply for being your father's daughter," Tyrion's words bring her head back, surprise yet again taking root in her sapphire eyes. "Are you to give up so easily?" No, she shakes her head, of course not. "Viserys Targaryen is not so inclined to go to war against anyone for a girl from the North that he barely even knows." Tyrion goes on and Sansa blinks, a new thought coming into her mind as she stands there in the afternoon sun. "Perhaps if you got to know him as I do, you too might see why he will be a good king. Perhaps you might even be able to work together so you both get what you want." He offers her a smile before he takes a step back and turns away, walking the same path that had led him down to the cliff's edge. Sansa watches him as he goes, until he disappears from her line of sight. Overhead, one of the dragon's shrieks as it streaks across the sky, reminding Sansa of the king that sits inside the castle behind her.

All this time, perhaps she had been tackling things in the entirely wrong way.

[ x x x ]

"You need not do this, my lady."

Brienne's vocals are full of discontent, her eyes sweeping her lady up and down, taking in the sight of her in the blue gown. It was true, the gown fit Sansa in a way that none of her own did- the pale blue color complimented her vibrant red hair and brought a warmth to her ivory skin. But it was not a gown her lady would ever wear- even in her time in King's Landing, she had never dressed in such a way. This was a gown cut for a Targaryen queen, not a Northern one.

"I have to," Sansa says softly, staring at her reflection in the looking glass. She knows everything rides upon this alliance with the Targaryen king and if pleasing his ego in this way was the only way, then so be it. "I am still me, Brienne." She says this more to herself than to her sworn shield, though she's frowning when she turns to face her. "I will do anything to protect the North." Brienne holds her gaze for a long moment but then nods, swallowing down what other words she thought she might say.

Together, the two women make their way down to the main hall, turning a corner to face the double doors that will lead into the war room. Sansa gives Brienne the briefest of nods before she reaches up to knock, three short knocks that alert those within the room of her arrival. It is Mossador that opens it, giving her a quick bow before he steps aside, allowing her and Brienne entrance to the room.

Viserys' feels his breath catch at the sight of the woman when she steps into the room, her appearance catching him off guard to say the least. The proud Northern lady had set aside her black gowns and furs for the blue and gold gown he'd sent to her room days before; she wore it as well as he had known she would. Viserys can't help but to allow his gaze to linger upon the young woman's chest, the swell of her breasts barely contained behind the thin blue silk. "Lady Stark, you look... Beautiful." Viserys says, coming around the side of the table to stand before her, taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. His lips linger far too long on her knuckles but she smiles prettily, silently thanking her mother for her every lesson on courtsey, silently thanking her years in King's Landing that taught her to mind her face in every moment of every day. "It was as I said, the gown is quite lovely on you."

At once, he's Joffrey, full of flattery that is more for his own benefit than hers. Viserys is pleased in knowing he was right and therefore, he's happy with her. Sansa smiles and dips him a quick curtsy before he steps away, returning to the seat he's just vacated. "You've joined us at a most opportune time, Tyrion, go on then." Viserys gives his hand a wave, indicating for the small man to continue on with his thought that Sansa's arrival had interrupted.

"I was saying... Your grace, my lady," Tyrion shoots her a pointed glance but Sansa looks away, instead focusing her gaze upon the great map that's carved into the table they stand around. It is a map of all of Westeros and at once, her gaze falls upon the North. "If we were to retrieve one of these White Walkers... One of these wights you speak of, it will prove their existence to not only his grace, but to my sister Cersei, as well." Now Sansa's eyes are on him and their gaze is sharp. "If this enemy is as great as you say they are, we will need an alliance. My sister will not believe in stories, but she will believe if you bring it to her."

Brienne scoffs from where she stands, looking over Sansa's shoulder. "You expect who to do this?" She asks, swinging her gaze from Tyrion to the king and then back to Tyrion. "You surely cannot expect that she-" Sansa holds up a hand, silencing her sword shield, focusing her blue eyes upon the king that sits across from where she stands.

"A team will be provided for you, of course." Tyrion continues, his voice drawing Sansa's attention back to him. "And the king will remain close, with a dragon, should you fall into trouble."

"This is a suicide mission!" Brienne scowls, shaking her head.

"Fine," Sansa interrupts, giving a nod. It was as she had always said, always thought... She would do anything to protect the North. Even this. "I will go with this team of yours, even just to the Wall." She glances at Brienne who looks as if she would strangle Tyrion Lannister where he stood, but she smiles upon her, softening the scowl Brienne wore. "But when we have secured the alliance with Cersei, I would like to return home." She returns her attention to Viserys, who sits up a little straighter in his chair. "Winterfell will serve as the best place to fight back. It will prevent the Night King from spreading further into Westeros if we stop him there in the North." If nothing else, this would secure her return home before the fight begun.

It takes several long, silent moments before Viserys nods.

But that was all she needed. That was all she wanted. She would be home again. Oh, it would be so sweet to be home again. It would be so sweet to see Jon again.


End file.
